Page 11 of Once Upon a Woven Wish
Serena stepped back, the empty bottle slick in her hand, and watched as her father slipped into a gentle sleep.Relief should have followed—should have loosened the knot in her chest—but instead something colder threaded through her veins.
Maris appeared in the doorway, her eyes darting between their father and Serena.“Serena, is he—?”
“He should be fine now,” she answered, though her voice came out clipped, distant.
She stared at her father, but the warmth she’d felt moments ago—the trust in his gaze, the love she’d been so certain of—drained from her.All she saw was a man who had leaned on her strength, who had demanded and demanded until she was nearly broken.And a treacherous thought took root.Would he ever thank her?Would he ever truly see her?
As the dark feelings bloomed inside her, something else flickered at the edges of her mind.A knowing.A sense of…what?That she had surrendered something.That she had agreed to a price as sharp and bitter as the metallic tang of blood in the air.That she had…lost something.
But she could not grasp what it was.
Maris edged closer, arms wrapped tight around herself.“When will we know?”
Serena tore her eyes away.“I don’t know.Perhaps in the morning.”
Weariness pressed down like a weight.She passed her sister the bottle and stumbled to her room, shedding her cloak where it fell.Boots kicked aside, she climbed onto the bed still dressed, sleep pulling her under like a tide.
The man lingered in the silence long after Serena’s footsteps faded down the mountain path.The air stilled, heavy with damp stone and the faint shimmer of magic.He pressed his palms against the worn rim of the Well, staring into its depths where threads of light writhed like restless serpents.
Always the same.Another desperate mortal.Another bargain struck.Another piece of a soul unraveled to feed the Well’s endless hunger.
But Serena was not the same.
Her eyes had burned with defiance, with love so fierce it threatened to undo her.He recognized it, though he wished he didn’t.It was the same flame that had undone him centuries ago.
He remembered the girl.The mortal who had come to the Well weeping for her dying family.He had given her what she asked for, weaving her wish into warmth and life, defying the law that demanded payment.For a time, her joy had filled his dark world with light.But mortals were not meant to bear the weight of such magic, and in saving her family, he had doomed himself—and her laughter—to silence.
He had broken every law of his kin to save them.To save her.He had tried to bring her back when she was gone.That was his crime.His sin.His punishment.
The Fae High Court had bound him here, to the Well, chained to the magic he had twisted for love.Now he would grant wishes until his hands bled, until his heart turned to ash, until mortals walked away leaving him empty.
But still, he wove.Because he could not stop.Because that was his penance.
The laws were clear—grant a favor but take payment in return.A name.A memory.A feeling.It did not matter.
He dragged a hand down his face, shutting his eyes.Serena’s voice still lingered in his ears, soft and certain, asking him to save her father.As he once begged to save the one he loved.
She would not thank him when the payment was due.None of them ever did.Yet when he thought of her, something sharp and dangerous stirred in him.A hope he had long since sworn dead.
“Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself, his voice rough in the night.“Not again.”
But the Well rippled with starlight, and deep inside its waters, he heard her name whispered back to him.
Serena awoke to bright sunshine pressing against her eyes.For a moment, she remained where she was, nestled against her pillow and buried under the thin quilt her grandmother made.Maris had one like it.
But the room was too quiet.She didn’t hear Maris snoring next to her, which was unusual.Maris was not an early riser.It was always Serena up early taking care of the household chores and making sure they weren’t going to starve before next week.
Her eyes blinked open.Maris’s bed was empty and unmade.As though she hastily got up, threw off the blankets.As if she’d leapt up in a hurry.
Serena sat up, straining her ears to listen.A man’s voice, stronger than she remembered, joined by her sister’s.
Papa.
Her breath hitched.She shoved aside the covers, swung her legs to the floor, and noticed absently the hole worn in the toe of her stocking.Something else to mend later.For now, she hurried from the room.
The door to her father’s bedroom was cracked.She paused, hand braced on the frame, listening.
“…Serena went to the doctor,” Maris’s bright voice carried.“She came back late.”
